[vivaldirules]

I couldn't resist giving this a try.

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett:
Estragon: "Nothing to be done, so, yes, let's go." (nobody moves)

Twelfth Night, or What You Will by William Shakespeare:
Duke: "If music be the food of love, our play is done and we'll strive to please you every day."

Demian by Hermann Hesse:
I cannot tell my story without reaching a long way back but sometimes when I find the key and climb deep into myself where the images of fate lie aslumber in the dark mirror, I need only bend over that dark mirror to behold my own image, now completely resembling him, my brother, my master.

(perhaps about the author having a blockage?)
2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke:
The drought had lasted now for ten million years but he would think of something.

(my favourite)
The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham:
I have never begun a novel with more misgiving so perhaps my ending is not so unsatisfactory after all.